Coup de Grâce (Stroke of Grace)
by Smoky Opium
Summary: If you love something, let it go. If it comes back, it is yours. If it doesn't, it never was. In some cases the only freedom is in oblivion.


**Disclaimer:** Kuroshitsuji (Black Butler) © Yana Toboso. No profit is being made from this story. This story does not necessarily reflect the author's religious views, beliefs or morals.

**Warning: **May contain spoilers. Mild Yaoi/Slash/Shounen-Ai. Mild suicidal themes.

**Summary:** If you love something, let it go. If it comes back, it is yours. If it doesn't, it never was. In some cases the only freedom is in oblivion.

**Story type: **Anime Cannon AU.

**Pairing:** Demon!Sebastian/Demon!Ciel.

**AN (may contain spoilers for story and cannon):** I have read a number of stories where Ciel is dead and Sebastian mourns over him/ feels strange after his passing. However I started to wonder what if the positions were reversed; if Ciel mourned over the passing of Sebastian. This story started from that single image in my mind. The title comes from Ciel's action in freeing Sebastian. Coup de Grâce refers to the freeing of someone from suffering.

**Coup de Grâce (Stroke of Grace) **

Cold. Still. Chilled flesh lay frozen, a perfect marble sculpture in death as in life. The skin was delicately translucent like a fine china cup. Slowly the back of a graceful hand caressed one cheek its owner marvelling at the softness, like eider down, belaying the critical, clinical perfection of the facial features. A finger was traced slowly down the narrow nose, dropping down to the thin lips following their outline, the subtle slight curves that lay forever still in death. Forever silenced, the smooth voice would never be able to sound a witty retort to something said. The golden years of their relationship were long gone, the life dying in that treasured voice as silence fell in between them. The demon had longed to taste those lips, but never realized this longing for what it was till the golden years had passed. Then it was too late, the gold had become tarnished, bitter fluid replacing the sweet honey nectar that lay between them.

Reverently he lowered his own lips to the lifeless mouth, stealing a kiss from his unknowing victim. It tasted of salt and hatred, nearly drowning out the more human tastes of sweet cinnamon and nutmeg that he had come to associate with his companion. Not that the other had seen their forced contract like that. He had screamed and raged at the unfairness of it all, his impotent anger scorching the demon. Eternity passed, the worlds around them changed and slowly the blistering fire that had once attracted him to the other dimmed. His companion's emotions became stilted, distant and cold. Amusement and irritation no longer shone in his eyes.

He deepened the kiss, lithe tongue wriggling past lips now pliant in death, reluctant to let the kiss end. The wet muscle explored the hard unyielding ridges that rippled across the roof of his could have been lover's mouth. It traced over the sharp canine teeth, before probing the frigid but soft muscle, tasting cold desolation and the bitter pleasure of welcomed death.

Reluctantly withdrawing, the demon once more traced those once forbidden lips. He was surprised, as he always was, by the residual heat echoing off the icy lips. It was strange being a demon, one lost the ability to tell what temperature their body was; there was no 'hot' or 'cold', no 'warmth' or 'chill'. Even stranger was how he could only feel the reflection of his own body heat when he touched another. Perhaps this was what drove so many demons to contract a human, the need for touch, for the sensation of something, anything that told them they existed. Demon's by their nature rarely got on well together and touching an angel was out of the question. Humans were neither pure nor irredeemably corrupted, they were easy prey.

He pressed his nose against the cold skin, desperately hoping to catch a whiff of the essence that he had loved, anything to sooth the violent aching in his chest. He remembered a saying he had heard in the human world while they had still lived there; "If you love something, set it free. If it comes back, it is yours. If it doesn't, it never was."

The demon had let him free and he would not be returning. They were never meant to be together; by their very natures they were doomed to forever be at war with each other. So why had he wanted the other so badly; to touch, caress and stroke, to bask in the presence of the other. Why had he wanted something so human? He rested his head on the smooth gentleman's vest that he had become accustomed to seeing on the other. The red eyed demon studied every inch of the corpse, memorizing every crinkle of fabric, the contrast between the crisp shirt and the vulnerable flesh under the corpus's chin.

Demon's never contracted each other. What would have been the point? Both demons would starve, the hunger driving them into insanity. This unnatural bond between them had never been created before. He had sought advice from demon's much older and wiser than he, but the result was always the same; insanity or death. The dark haired demon had watched his eternal companion, as the hunger began to eat away at him. The other would never admit to the tearing pain, the slow burning as it consumed him from the inside out, but the demon knew it was there. He himself was in far less pain than his companion, perhaps it was because he had not already been starving when the contract became eternal. He watched as the other weakened; injuries became more commonplace, healing slowed, changes in appearance faltered, until his companion's pride was the only thing keeping him standing.

Lowering his head, the demon nuzzled the just under the frozen ear, nibbling down the angular jawline, before shifting his ministrations to the icy neck; his lips stopping where the alabaster skin disappeared under his collar. Tenderly he lifted the once powerful arms and joined them over his companion's chest. With great care he lacked the stiff yet once nimble fingers together, a mockery of prayer that flew in the face of God.

Demons for all their strength and power were surprisingly vulnerable when they were under contract. Every order was absolute, only subject to interpretation by the demon. Once given they had to be carried out, unless another order countermanded it. Orders needed to be exact, otherwise the demon would subvert it. But there were times when a demon need not subvert the order to get exactly what they wanted.

A sparkling diamond fell like a star onto the black vest, shattering into a myriad of splinter before being absorbed by the dark material. Lethargically the demon stood up, straddling the corpse, his hands cradling and stroking the face of his beloved. It was one thing to watch the other starve to insanity with him, but another to see how being in his presence distressed the other. Had his presence, the eternally damned contract really been all that unbearable? They could have subsisted off stolen souls, fending off insanity that way. Though it would never have been as filling as a properly procured soul they would have been sane.

Another diamond fell, followed by another, the glittering fragments cascading down to vanish in the unending blackness. The demon had felt something in him freeze when the other had nodded his assent to his unspoken question. In a flash he remembered that quote; "If you love something, let it go…" Letting his companion go was the only thing he could do; the order just had to be given. He remembered the look of relief that crossed the other's face when the order was finally given, and it cracked his stone cold heart in two.

Demons couldn't die. But even death was up to interpretation.

'_Sebastian, this is an order; cease to exist.'_

'_Yes, my Lord.' _


End file.
